


221B: The Bee Jar

by AprilFool



Series: 221B [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Autistic Sherlock Holmes, Bees, Caring John, Childhood Memories, Confused Sherlock, Cute John Watson, Cute Sherlock, Feelings, First Love, Flowers, Fluff, Innocent Sherlock, John Watson In Love, John Watson Takes Care of Sherlock Holmes, Johnlock - Freeform, London, M/M, Nostalgia, Sexual Inexperience, Sherlock Holmes and Bees, Sherlock Holmes and Experiments, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson in Love, Sherlock in Love, Shy Sherlock, Summer, Sweet Sherlock, Synesthesia, Virgin Sherlock, soft sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 05:15:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11154996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AprilFool/pseuds/AprilFool
Summary: Sherlock loves bees, obviously. So John leaves him a little present. But soon Sherlock's love turns into an obsession and John needs to interfere.





	221B: The Bee Jar

**Author's Note:**

> Something cute and summery and lovely today :)

With little tubby sounds the tiny body bumps against the glass. Extremities like threads jitter in the air. Antennae slowly move back and forth, scanning for scents.  
_Fascinating._  
When Sherlock came into the kitchen this morning, drowsy and yawning, an old jam jar sat on the table. A tag, bound with a piece of string right under the perforated lid, said “To Sherl, from J.”  
Buzzing sounds came from the inside. Sherlock kneeled down, opened his sleepy eyes a bit wider. The light was still a trifle too intense, but after a few seconds his pupils adjusted to the brightness.  
Colletes hederae.  
He just sat and observed.

After a couple of minutes he still watches the little bee whirring inside the jar.  
Sherlock blinks in amazement. He rests his chin on the wooden surface of the table.  
Ivy bees have been first recorded in England only a few years ago.  
John must have found it in their flat when he got ready for work. Sherlock is glad his flatmate was kind enough to catch it for him. His inside turns warm.  
And because ivy bees don’t live in groups no one will miss this one. As if bees would miss each other anyway…  
Sherlock decides to keep it.  
He feels the joy of childhood deep inside him. Collecting and observing insects had been one of his greatest pleasures back in the day. The circle of nostalgia is white today. Excitement.

An idea forms in his mind, trickles down into his heart.  
He decides to skip breakfast, brushes his teeth and gets dressed instead. Rummages every cupboard, every drawer, every shelf. He once had a bug vacuum which is nowhere to be found today. So he has to stick to glass containers like the jam jar. He gathers some of his pharmacy glasses, prepares each with a drop of honey, then puts the jars into John’s woven shopping basket. Sherlock is good to go. His lips curve upwards in excitement.

 

Outside the weather is warm. It’s the end of May, summer lurks right behind the next corner.  
I need a summer coat, Sherlock thinks. He feels exposed without being wrapped, _hugged_ , in fabric.  
He stands in the street, his home right behind him. Red dots flash around his pancreas.  
_Anxiety?_  
Left or right?  
Regent’s Park or Hyde Park?  
As Regent’s Park is closer to Baker Street, Sherlock decides to go there first. He takes a circuit though. Sways the basket a bit. The pharmacy glasses clink. It’s hard not to leap for joy. The day feels so good!  
Sherlock beams.

The streets are empty, the sky is blue, the air smells like ice cream. Sherlock closes his eyes, just listens, just walks. Absorbs this late spring morning. He can feel Redbeard at his side, almost. He can taste the cake his mother used to bake every Sunday, nearly.  
He sighs. Because there are too many feelings inside him, too many colours and shapes. They have to leave his body somehow. Sighing helps, sometimes.

Sherlock stumbles ever so slightly, opens his eyes. The brightness stings. He should have taken sunglasses with him.  
Across the street in a small front garden bright flowers gleam. The perfect place to start a bee collection.  
_Bee time!_

Sherlock opens a jar, leans over the green metal fence. The flowers smell intense, hence all kinds of insects buzz and bumble inside the little garden.  
Sherlock spots three bees on the sweet violet. It’s easy to catch one of them. He puts the container back into the basket, continues his walk to Regent’s Park.

He thinks about the bee in their kitchen, he thinks about John. How happy John can make him.

Regent’s Park looks like a painting by Renoir.  
Sherlock blinks a few times. Gravel scrunches beneath his feet, the air is filled with the perfume of blooming flowers. Besides a few joggers and mums with prams the pathways are abandoned.  
Sherlock hops over a small fence that separates the trail from a flower bed. He kneels down, doesn’t need to crawl deep inside the bed. Nearly every blossom nourishes a bee or pretty butterfly.  
Sherlock is tempted to catch a common brimstone. Its wings are nearly translucent.  
_Fascinating._

A very big bumble bee flies from flower to flower, hums. Sherlock reaches out, feels the slight draught its wings cause on his fingers. The bumble bee lands in his palm. Its legs tickle. Sherlock chuckles. His inside is filled with joy and love for that tiny creature. He wants to pet its round fuzzy body. Instead he puts the bumble bee inside one of his pharmacy glasses. He can’t risk to lose his best find. And that big bumble bee definitely is the best trove of today.

It’s an easy task to fill glass after glass. But the last two containers remain empty. Instead Sherlock starts staring, observing, dreaming. Still sitting between the flowers.  
He should thank John for the bee. So he grabs his mobile phone, takes a photo of the flowers, deletes the photo because it’s a bit too postcard-like, writes a short message instead.  
_Glad you caught the bee. SH_  
He doesn’t expect a response soon.

“Excuse me, but what are you doing over there?”  
Sherlock turns around. A policeman stands behind the fence.  
“You are not allowed to be behind the fence.”  
“It’s a pretty small fence”, Sherlock says.  
“It is. But it signals to not enter the flower beds.”  
“There is no sign that says that.”  
The policeman points at his left. Sherlock cranes his neck. In the distance he can detect a small metal plate stuck into the ground.  
“Now, can you please leave the flower bed? What are you doing there, anyways?” The policeman stares at the basket filled with buzzing pharmacy glasses, suspicious.  
Sherlock notices his looks. “Just… went to get some medicine”, he lies.  
The policeman’s expression changes, slides his hand to his belt. “Sir, please come out of the flower bed. Now.”  
Sherlock gets up, grabs his basket, makes a big step over the fence to demonstrate how small it is.  
The buzzing sound coming from his basket increases. The bees don’t like to be shaken inside their little prisons. And twenty-seven startled and angry bees can make a lot of noise.  
“I guess you should pick up your phone”, the policeman says, mistakes the sound of bee wings for a vibrating mobile.  
“Yeah, I should. Probably. Good morning.” Sherlock turns around, leaves the policeman behind.The basket hums like a hive.  
_Oh, how amazing it will be to hear this music every day from now on!_

 

John comes home late. After work he went to a bar with some colleagues.  
Sherlock is already asleep. He sleeps rather regularly these days, John notices. Remembers nights when his flatmate played the violin for hours or sighed way too much.  
John stays in front of Sherlock’s bedroom door for a while. Wants to make clear if everything is alright with his flatmate. You never know what might have happened to him this day.  
A quiet hum comes from inside.  
Sherlock has a strange taste in music, John thinks. He turns around without checking on his flatmate. In the kitchen the jar with the bee is gone. John smiles.

 

Sherlock has put his bees under two massive bell jars. They sit on his drawer. He needs to improve their housing soon.  
It was peaceful to fall asleep and wake up to the bumbling sounds. The bees make his bedroom feel a bit safer. A bit more home.

Sherlock needs the whole day to catalogue the insects. He wants to make sure to be finished before John comes home from work. Sherlock is pretty sure that his flatmate won’t be too keen on sharing the flat with nearly thirty bees.  
Although it’s very hard to keep it a secret. Sherlock really wants to share something so joyful with John.  
When Sherlock puts some flowers under the bell jars a bumble bee escapes. Unnoticed.

 

The next morning another jar waits for Sherlock on the kitchen table. The escaped bumble bee inside. A post it sticks on the lid: "Look what I found! A fat one! J." __  
Sherlock makes a noise.  
_Fat? Bumble bees are not fat_.  
Still, Sherlock keeps the note, puts it into a little box where he also stores the tag from the first jar and his John-notebook.  
He has to be more careful while opening the bell jars from now on.  
But Sherlock can’t observe this rule for too long.

In the afternoon he changes the flowers, opens one jar a bit too wide. A bee flies into his face, makes him stumble backwards, lifting the jar even wider. Eighteen bees escape. Sherlock just stands still and watches the bees fly around under the ceiling, out of the door into the other rooms.  
_Bugger!_  
They have to be gone before John arrives. Caught in jars again. Or completely gone. Out of the window.  
But Sherlock doesn’t feel like letting his bees go so soon.

He prepares a plate with some honey, hopes the bees will fall for the sweet treat. When they’ll settle down to eat, he can put the bell jar above.  
But the bees don’t care for the honey, explore the flat instead, bump against window panes, crawl over furniture.  
Sherlock grabs a glass and a magazine, tries to catch the little creatures while they sit on the walls or windows. But he has no success. As soon as the bees sense an air draught they take off.  
A butterfly net might help, Sherlock thinks. But he doesn’t have one. And there is no time left to organise one.

John opens the door to their living room, Sherlock stands on his armchair, waves with the magazine.  
“What are you doing?”  
Sherlock freezes, just for a second, then hops from the chair. “Oh, er, there was a fly”, he says.  
“Okay. Fine.” But John doesn’t look convinced. His eyes wander to the coffee table where the plate and bell jar sit.  
“Experiment”, Sherlock explains briskly.  
“Ah, okay.”  
For a moment they just stand there in silence. The buzzing bees the only sound in the room.  
“I heard that sound in your bedroom yesterday”, John then says.  
“ASMR video. Autonomous sensory meridian response. You know, these amazing sounds. Helps me think.” Sherlock babbles. The ivory bee, that started Sherlock’s bee collection, passes by. He has marked her with a little colourful dot of Mrs Hudson’s nail polish. John follows the insect with his eyes.  
“Oh, another bee.” Sherlock tries to sound surprised but he can’t mock his flatmate. A second bee nearly hits John’s face. He snorts, waves his arms. Then looks at Sherlock, seriously.  
“Tell me, what is going on? Did you keep the bees I found? Are there other insects in here?”  
“Well…”  
But John doesn’t wait for an answer, walks straight into Sherlock’s bedroom, followed by his flatmate.  
“What is that?” He points at the bee jar.  
“I started a bee collection.” Sherlock sounds uncomfortable. “But I stored it in my room, not the kitchen anymore!”  
“And why are there bees in the living room?”  
“Some fled.”  
“Some fled?”  
“Nineteen.”  
“You tell me that there are nineteen bees flying around in our flat?”  
“Exactly.”  
John closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, tries to stay calm. “So that bumble bee this morning was from your collection too?”  
“Yes.”  
John sighs. “Jesus Christ. Where did you get them?”  
“I went to Regent’s Park the morning you caught the first one.”  
“I know you really like bees. But I never intended to keep the bee I caught. I never imagined you would catch even more and let them live in our flat!” John rubs his face with his palms. “Sherlock, you can’t keep bees in a London flat. You know that, right?” He looks at his flatmate.  
“It was just for a few days”, Sherlock says.  
He feels discouraged. He was so proud of his collection, so happy. He knew John wouldn’t think the same. But John’s reaction now just makes Sherlock sad. Because bees mean something to him. Because John has gifted him a bee. Because he wants to share something he loves with John.

“They have to go. Tonight. And we try catching all the other nineteen flying around in our flat, okay?”  
“Okay”, Sherlock agrees quietly.  
John touches his arm, looks him in the eyes. “You know that they are no pets, right?”  
“Right.” Sherlock nods.

 

Together they spend the next three hours stepping on furniture, cursing, waving with their hands, opening every window, more cursing. It’s John who swears the most. While Sherlock grows quieter and quieter.  
They end with two big jars full of bees.  
It’s time to bring them back to the park. They do it together.

The evening is beautiful, still warm, purple light. John enjoys the walk.  
After arriving at Regent’s Park they sit down on a bench. Sherlock holds the two jars very tight in his hands. Doesn’t want to let go.  
“I can open them”, John says, his voice soft.  
Sherlock shakes his head, but he doesn’t make another move.  
John reaches for the glasses. Touches Sherlock’s hand ever so slightly, then opens the lids.  
The first bees fly away, rise higher and higher. Sherlock follows them with his eyes until they disappear. He keeps staring into the twilight.

“Are you okay?”, John asks.  
“Yeah, I’m fine.” But Sherlock’s voice is hoarse and he clenches his jaw. “Let’s go home.” He gets up, doesn’t wait for John to follow.  
Back at their flat he goes into his bedroom and doesn’t leave it for the rest of the evening. He tries to fall sleep, but fails. Hugs Bumble a little bit tighter this night.

 

Sherlock doesn’t leave his bedroom the following day either. He feels miserable from the lack of sleep. Stays in bed the whole morning. Stares sadly at the now empty top of the drawer where the flowers wither.  
Around noon John comes home earlier than usual. He knocks at Sherlock’s door. “Are you asleep? Can I come in?”  
Sherlock mutters something, sits up.  
John enters the room, his face hidden behind bushes of lavender.  
“What is that?” Sherlock is curious.  
“I thought that we can put flowers in a window box. I’ve read that bees like lavender. So I went to a florist’s. We can put it on your window sill so you can watch the bees from your bedroom.”  
“Oh!” Sherlock’s face brightens. He jumps out of his bed, wants to hug John but stops just in time.  
“Can you open your window, please? This flower box is a bit heavy.”  
“Yes, of course!”

Soon the box is put outside on the window sill.  
“Let’s wait for the first bee”, John says. They sit down on Sherlock’s edge of the bed and keep looking, waiting.  
“Thank you so much”, Sherlock whispers, still staring at the lavender.  
John touches his flatmates knee, squeezes it. Fast.  
Sherlock smiles, his inside tickles.  
A bumble bee lands on the lilac flowers.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and thanks for your nice comments on my previous stories. They mean the world to me!  
> I noticed that a lot of you like sexy John and innocent Sherlock, so keep an eye out for next weeks part. I try to incorporate your suggestions.  
> I love you <3
> 
> Also: The flowers mentioned in this story are bee-friendly. The website bbowt.org.uk provides helpful information on how to make your garden more attractive to bees.


End file.
